


Late Night Mistress

by magneticdice



Series: Fic!February15 [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Challenge - Fic!February, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 08:55:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3284432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magneticdice/pseuds/magneticdice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wrong Number AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night Mistress

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teamwinchesterbros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamwinchesterbros/gifts).



> happy birthday amanda! here's a wrong number au for you, in which Ian isn’t as good as he thinks he is at dialing phone numbers while drunk, and in which Mickey doesn’t hang up when he should

After spending more than a couple of hours enduring the typical Milkovich family drama he’d grown used to dealing with whenever their dad was away in prison, Mickey fell into his bed, face down, and vowed never to get out of it again.

He was almost asleep when he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He fished it out with minimal shimmying and looked at the screen before answering. He didn’t recognize the number, but it was a local one, so he pressed the little green button to accept the call.

“Yeah?” he grunted.

The voice on the other end of the line wasn’t a familiar one. “You say I’m the faggot? Well, truth is, you’re the gayest fucking faggot I’ve ever met.”

Mickey sat bolt upright and looked around his dark room in fear even though it was completely empty. “... _What_?” he breathed, hiding the edge to his voice. He quickly checked at the number again to make sure he didn’t know it.

“You heard me. You’re gay, and if you can’t admit that, I’m done with your shit. I’m done being your _mistress_ ,” the voice spat, the last word dripping with contempt.

Mickey let out a sigh of relief as he realized the mystery caller had the wrong number. For a second there, he had thought someone was calling to threaten outing him.

“Hey man,” he began, “you’re barking up the wrong tree here.”

“You _would_ say that,” was the stranger’s reply. The guy let out a harsh laugh. “I can’t believe I wasted my time on you. You’re such a fucking pussy.”

“Hey, hey‒” Mickey tried to stop him, but the guy just continued mouthing off to him.

“Does your wife know the things you say to me when I’m fucking you?” he asked. “Does she know how rough and dirty you like it? Can she make you beg for release the way I do?”

Mickey tensed. Part of him wanted to try to stop the guy again, to explain he had the wrong number, but the other part of him ‒ a bigger part, if he was being honest ‒ wanted to hear more.

“When I bend you over the table and push my hard dick into your tight hole, and you beg for me to fuck you faster and harder?” he yelled, and Mickey could hear that he was already emotional. “So don’t you fucking dare call _me_ the faggot when you’re the one who’s the fucking cock-slut here.” And with that, the guy hung up.

Mickey swallowed hard, the stranger’s words hitting too close to home.

He shoved his phone onto the table beside his bed and lay back down. Whatever the hell _that_ whole thing was about, at least it was over.

Try as he might to push the one-sided conversation out of his mind and go to sleep, the stranger’s words kept repeating in his head in that same hurt, strangled tone the guy had spoken in. He was suddenly aware of every single sound around him: the endless ticking of his clock, the voices of his brothers still arguing in the living room, Mandy’s music coming from her shitty bedroom radio, the dripping tap in the bathroom… Mickey shifted back onto his stomach and pulled a pillow over his head in an attempt to muffle the sounds of the outside world.

Twenty minutes later, he shoved the pillow aside and sat up in annoyance. _What the fuck was wrong with him?_ he wondered. He reached for his phone and held it in his lap, staring down at it and scowling as if it had offended him somehow.

He finally opened it and called back the most recent incoming number. It rang five times before going to voicemail. “ _Hi. You’ve reached Ian. Leave a message and I might get back to you if it’s a good one_ ,” followed by a long beep.

Mickey hung up before the beep ended. So the guy who had called him was named Ian…

Another ten minutes went by before Mickey worked up the nerve to call again, all the while planning out what kind of message he would leave. He just wanted to tell the guy that he’d called the wrong number, and that the asshole he had _intended_ on saying all that shit to was probably still out there somewhere, without a clue that their relationship (or whatever it was they had going on) was over.

But this time, instead of the call going to voicemail, the guy picked up after the second ring. “Hello?” the guy, Ian, asked.

It completely threw him off. Mickey had been ready to leave a message, not actually _talk_ to him.

“I can hear you breathing,” Ian said.

“Um… hi,” Mickey replied, feeling like an idiot. “You… uh… Are you Ian?” he asked.

“Yeah… Who’s this?”

“Well, I’m sure as hell not the guy you’ve been bending over the table and fucking,” Mickey blurted out without thinking.

There was silence on the other end of the line, and then an uncomfortable cough. “Excuse me?”

 _What the fuck was wrong with him?_ he wondered again, running his hands down his face. “Listen,” he started with a sigh. “You called me before. I just thought you should know that you had the wrong number. All that shit you said to me still needs to be said to your pussy boyfriend.”

He heard a gulp. “Oh,” Ian replied, almost a whisper. “Fuck.”

Then Mickey heard soft laughter coming through the phone, getting louder every second. “I guess I’m not as good as I think I am at dialing numbers while drunk…” he said. “That would explain why he showed up here twenty minutes ago and had no idea why the fuck I was throwing his shit out the window!”

Ian’s laughter eventually died down, followed by more silence, as there was really nothing left for Mickey to say. “So, yeah. Anyway…”

“Wait,” the Ian told him quickly before Mickey could end the call. “Why didn’t you just hang up? Why would you let me go off on a rant like that in the first place?”

“I, uh.. didn’t know it was a wrong number at first,” Mickey admitted. “Not until you got to the ‘mistress’ part…”

“Oh God,” Ian said, and Mickey felt himself blush from second-hand embarrassment. “You must have thought I was such a freak, talking about pounding the shit out of him and making him beg for it…”

Mickey bit his lip. “Nah,” he said eventually. “It was kinda hot.”

A third awkward silence ensued, and Mickey was tempted to hang up to save himself from the uncomfortable situation.

Ian cleared his throat. “What was your name again?” he asked, and Mickey could have sworn he heard the guy laughing again.

He hesitated before answering. “Mickey.”

“Well. Hi, Mickey. I’m Ian,” he declared, “but I guess you already knew that... So, um…” he huffed out a laugh. “Does your phone have video calling?”

This time Mickey was the one to laugh.


End file.
